


Need You Now

by BeautyInChains



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: BDSM, Boot Worship, Collars, F/M, Pegging, Riding Crops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyInChains/pseuds/BeautyInChains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gemma gives Tig what he needs after Chibs takes over as Sergeant at Arms. Set end Season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need You Now

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt over at Anarchy_Kink. I will say this is the first "het" fic I've written in a very, very long time, so I hope that Anon and others are able to enjoy. Not thoroughly beta'd, so mistakes are my own. As per usual, I do not own a thing, I am merely playing in Kurt Sutter's sandbox. Title taken from the Lady Antebellum song of the same name.

Gemma’s been expecting him, that much is obvious when she opens the door. Tig wonders if she knew, wonders if Jax told her before he told the club. But then again he didn’t really tell the club, did he?

And Chibs? Chibs had slid all too easily into his place. Tig supposes he can’t blame Chibs; he had done the same thing for Clay—for years, obeying like a dog would its master.

Gemma’s wide eyes look sad, but controlled, her mouth set in a thin line. She looks like she might want to pull him into her arms, let him bury his face into her breasts and cry. But that’s not what he needs right now and she knows it. Tig needs to be controlled, to be used, to be reminded of his place. “Knees,” she says easily. Tig sinks fast, knees hitting the floor of the foyer hard and he welcomes the pain. Her fingers sink into his curls before jerking his head back and up so she can look into his eyes.

“Good boy, Tiggy.”

And then her hands are at his throat securing his black leather collar, fingers lingering on the D-ring as she fastens the leash. Tig can feel his pulse quickening as she spins and tugs him along. The collar cuts into his flesh and he can feel his cock thicken in response. He follows her, hands and knees to the bedroom. The carpet is soft and familiar beneath his palms and fingers, grounding him to his purpose. Gemma stops at the foot of the bed and releases him, leash dropping to the floor.

“Strip,” she says. Tig swallows and does as he’s told. Gemma watches intently as he strips, clothes hitting the floor. When the cut falls he can’t find it in him to give a fuck where it lands. By the time he’s bare before Gemma his cock is throbbing for her. The dim lights dance invitingly off the black leather of her knee high boots and Tig can’t help the way his eyes linger, can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation. He knows he’s been staring for too long when the toe of her left boot comes up off the floor and down on his fingers, crushing them into the carpet.

“Thought you might want a closer look since you can’t seem to take your eyes off them. Why don’t you show me just how much you like them?” When Tig doesn’t move he feels Gemma’s fingers sink back into his curls and pull hard until his lips are pressed against the leather. They feel buttery soft and the familiar scent floods his senses as he inhales deeply. He parts his lips, runs them over the leather, and presses moist kisses from the knee down.

“Good boy,” she murmurs again. By the time his lips make their way to the toe of her boot his tongue has joined in leaving wet trails in its wake. Tig’s fingers throb beneath her boot as he nuzzles the leather. He sighs in reprieve as Gemma releases her grip on his hair and slowly lifts the toe of her boot. His fingers ache as he stretches them out against the carpet, but Gemma doesn’t allow him more than a moment to recover.

“Get on the bed, hands and knees.” And he does, without question.

Tig knows what’s coming. She always does it this way, not that he would change it for the world. Gemma has been the only constant he’s had for months. “If I let you choose tonight, what would you have?” 

Tig thinks as she runs her nails up and down the backs of his thighs. “The crop,” he murmurs finally. He hisses as she gives his balls a light swat.

“The crop, what?”

“The crop, please Mistress,” he grinds out between his teeth.

“That’s better,” Gemma coos. She returns quickly with the riding crop. Tig shivers as she drags it down his back, between his cheeks, and down his heavy sac. “How many do you think you deserve, hmm? One for every time Clay fucked you over? Or how about one for every time you came crawling back to him like the good little bitch you are? Do you even know how many that would be?”

Tig can feel his eyes flood, sting. His fingers clench and unclench against the fabric of the duvet. He deserves this—all of this.

“How did it feel to watch Chibs take it from you?” she asks, the riding crop slipping down his thigh, “Did you even put up a fight?

The questions are rhetorical, which is just as well because there aren’t any words; her own drip with venom and it only makes him harder. Gemma always knows how to give him exactly what he deserves, how to make him feel everything he needs to feel. He can feel her looming over him and it feels too fucking good for someone else to be in control, to know him inside and out.

“Of course you didn’t,” she continues, “because you always do as you’re told. Same as you’ll do now. Count for me.”

Tig feels the crop leave his skin only to return in a stinging blow. He hisses, head hanging, “One.”

It falls again, this time clipping his hole and he feels his cock throb hard from where it’s hanging blood-heavy between his thighs. “Two.”

Gemma works her way up to thirty before the tears are spilling down his cheeks and he’s begging and pleading.

“Please,” and it sounds so fucking broken even to his own ears.

He hears the crop fall from her fingers, the slide of a wooden drawer, and the clink of buckles; hears her drawing shaky breathes and knows that she’s trying to hold it all together. It makes his heart ache and stomach roll, because she’s doing this for him. The skin of his ass and thighs burns flaming hot, hurts as his muscles flex and shift beneath. He jumps at her touch—fingers fanning out across his red cheeks. Tig can’t help but wince as he feels them pulling and parting until his hole is open and exposed. He feels her breath ghost against him and shivers.

Tig moans as her tongue laves his hole, bathes it in saliva, slicking him up. She toys at the rim, flicking her tongue against it before pushing inside. It meets no resistance. Tig feels Gemma slide a knee between his thighs, nudging them further apart. Exposing him. Gemma fucks her tongue in and out and Tig has to bite down on his lip to keep from making another sound, but he can’t quite suppress the whine that leaves him when her tongue does.

“On your back,” she says, voice rough and low.

Tig does as he’s told, rolls his lust clumsy body over, putting himself on display for her. The first thing he sees is Gemma’s glistening mouth, knows she’s got his musk all over her and he feels his cock twitch hard. He lets his eyes fall down the column of her throat, down the beautiful scar and her full breasts, past her tight stomach to the thick black cock swaying between her legs. The harness cuts into the flesh of her hips, framing the space where her cunt should be—where it’s obscured behind leather and silicone. Gemma has fucked him before, he had practically begged for it after he got out of prison.

Her cock is wet, lube-slick and Tig almost sighs in relief, knows he doesn’t deserve it. He feels the blunt head of her cock against his hole and isn’t able to keep himself from canting his hips up into hers.

“Knees up, Tiggy,” she says. Tig hauls his knees up, holds them pressed against his chest. He thinks about how he must look all spread open, hole exposed. He feels himself flush as Gemma moans appreciatively, unable to hold back. Tig is so turned on he can feel how wet his cock is as it drags against his belly. He cries out as Gemma thrusts in hard and deep without warning. He watches as she sucks on her bottom lip, slides almost all the way out before thrusting back in, punching the breath out of him.

“You like that, baby?” she gasps, pleasure sparking as the harness works against her clit. Gemma keeps the pace, fucking in and out hard and Tig isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold it together for.

“Fuck, Gemma,” he grinds out. He doesn’t realize his mistake until the back of her right hand catches his cheek and pain blossoms across his face. Mistress, he thinks, whines, but the blow has only served to make him harder. He watches her brows furrow with the effort, watches a bead of sweat trickle down her temple. His cock is so swollen, aching with the need to come. Gemma leans in close, curls the fingers of one hand around his collar, the other’s around his cock.

She uses her grasp on the leather to hold him down as she fucks into him. The collar cuts into his throat and Tig feels the room spin, not enough oxygen making its way into his lungs as he pants breathlessly. It’s perfection and Tig can feel it start low, the heat, the build—rushing through him with such speed and force he’s blindsided by the pleasure. Tig’s hips snap against Gemma’s of their own volition, balls drawing up tight and then it’s all over, back arching, cock spurting rope after rope of hot, thick spunk up his chest, viscous fluid catching the underside of Gemma’s tits.

Gemma fucks him through it, waits until he’s coming down before collapsing against him. Tig knows she hasn’t come and thinks maybe he should feel badly about it, but he can’t bring himself to care. If she wanted to come badly enough she would have fucked him until she got what she wanted. She’s made it clear that tonight isn’t about what she wants, it’s about what Tig needs, and he’s thankful for it.

“You okay, baby?” she murmurs against the damp hollow of his throat after what feels like an eternity.

Tig curls his fingers in her hair and hopes the silence says what he can’t.


End file.
